


Judas Kiss

by scrapbullet



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Henry knew, of course he did, knew that Coward would be reduced to this, a shuddering mess of want and need and now.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Judas Kiss

He aches. Good god, he aches with a desire so heady he can scarcely breathe; cock thick and heavy, weeping profusely. The sticky evidence stains the crotch of his trousers so that all and sundry may witness his depravity, may look upon him sitting at his desk and take heed of his rolling hips and _know_.

No. Does he possess any self restraint? Though the plug is wide and hard within he should be able to tolerate it. At any other time he would, but with the loss of the constricting leather straps it is so very easy to shift, to bear down on the fullness until it rubs so deliciously against his prostrate; cock shuddering, swelling, threatening to push him over the edge at any moment.

 _Breathe._

Henry knew, of course he did, knew that Coward would be reduced to this, a shuddering mess of want and need and _now_. He knew and yet had worked the plug in all the same with that terrible glint in his fathomless eyes, the one that makes Coward's body pitch forward in remembrance, bracing himself on smooth mahogany. His knuckles are white, nails scoring into the wood.

This is torture, sheer bloody _torture._

Pleasure pools deep in his belly as the ache blossoms; spreads through his cock and balls in a steady drum beat. He moans. His thighs quiver from the sheer effort of keeping still and yet, he isn’t strong enough. _He isn’t strong enough_. Skin flushes pink and sweat beads on his forehead as he balances on the precipice, toes beginning to cramp as the heat turns to ice and his insides clench around the plug, wanting nothing more than to grind and draw it deeper, harder, rub against that one spot that will send him soaring.

Oh. _Oh_ , but he can’t, he _can’t._

But there is one thing that is certain in Coward’s world, and that is that his body is a traitor. It builds, that torturous ice, and he’s gasping, breathless, unable to stop himself as his hips shift just a _fraction_ and he comes so hard he see’s stars. Moaning deliriously he rubs himself against the edge of the desk, high and ardent, biting his lip so hard that blood wells and runs down his chin.

 _Oh. Oh god._

He starts to shake.

Henry. Henry will be so very disappointed.


End file.
